


Remedy

by kjack89



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Canon Era, Censorship, Fluff, Friendship/Love, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-14
Updated: 2014-08-14
Packaged: 2018-02-13 04:03:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2136306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kjack89/pseuds/kjack89
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Combeferre and Courfeyrac share a moment together following the meeting where Courfeyrac burns the Touquet Charter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Remedy

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Courferre week as my humble (and regrettably short) contribution, and also because there can never be enough canon era friends/lovers.
> 
> Usual disclaimer applies just as it always does, to the point where I'm sure you're beyond tired of me saying it. Please be kind and tip your fanfic writers in the form of comments and/or kudos!

Courfeyrac all but collapsed into the chair next to Combeferre in the downstairs of the Musain, reaching up to loosen his cravat, his face quite red from laughter, wine, or a mixture of both. “Mon ami, your singing voice is better than I recall, though should I thank the wine for that?”

He reached out to steal Combeferre’s wine glass just as the man was raising it to his lips, and Combeferre sighed but let Courfeyrac take a sip before taking his glass back. “Of course not. Merely the moment and what it called for.”

“Do you mean setting my dear Marius straight with but three words? A personal record, I daresay, and it will leave his head reeling for days, no doubt.” Courfeyrac smiled at him, though there was something tentative in the smile. “But before the singing, I could not help but feel you have been quiet this eve. Tell me what ails you, so I can relieve it.”

“You?” Combeferre repeated, watching as Courfeyrac stole his wine glass again. “What can you do for my ailments beyond call Joly or a physician?”

Courfeyrac cocked his head as if considering it. “There’s plenty I could do. For one, I could call Joly or a physician.” Combeferre snorted and shook his head, and Courfeyrac reached out to touch his hand gently. “But as I do not believe this to be a physical matter, perhaps there is something I can do. Particularly if I am the cause in some way.”

Combeferre leaned back in his seat, his expression neutral. “What makes you think you are the cause?”

Shrugging, Courfeyrac mimicked his posture. “Intuition, perhaps. Or else a certain sense of vanity.” He propped his chin on his hand and looked up at Combeferre with wide, pleading eyes. “And if I am right, and I am the cause, give me opportunity to mend what I have done. Please.”

For a moment, it looked as if Combeferre might ignore Courfeyrac’s request, but then he sighed and shook his head. “I do not know if you can,” he murmured. “Lest you have powers of which I know not to turn back time.”

Courfeyrac frowned. “Speak plainly of your concern.”

Combeferre bowed his head for a long moment, but Courfeyrac knew better than to push him while he was thinking and forming his words. “The charter,” he said slowly, and Courfeyrac snorted and rolled his eyes, but Combeferre barrelled onward. “Certainly the document holds no real value — the ragged copy we had even less — but at what point does burning the ideas with which we disagree lead instead to forgetting on what our civilization is built? For its attempt at ideals the charter may be dismissed, even burned, and I’d not complain; for what it has wrought in our society, it remains an important document. And I know — I  _know_  the act was symbolic—” (Courfeyrac had just been about to make this point and promptly closed his mouth) “—but symbols are important, and the cavalier burning of said symbols, or worse, the possibility of those whose ideals stand against ours burning  _our_  documents in an attempt to smother our voices—”

“Mon ami.” Courfeyrac’s voice was gentle as he cut Combeferre off before he could too worked up into a full-on rant. “Perhaps my act was as naïve as Marius’s speech before. I’ll not disagree with that. Impetuousness may be my downfall in more ways than one, and this act I think only emphasizes that. But it  _was_  merely the burning of one of many copies of a document so enshrined in law its ideas may not be easily forgotten, no matter how many copies are burned.”

“But the very thought of burning documents, books, history, ideas—” Combeferre started, heated.

Courfeyrac squeezed his hand and finished for him, “—is deplorable, and something we must try to ensure does not happen, no matter how much we may wish to be rid of certain ideas. And I shall save my burning for more worthy ventures. Like anything related to Napoleon.”

Combeferre rolled his eyes but laughed slightly, and Courfeyrac relaxed, knowing the topic was settled, at least for the moment, and boldly laced his fingers with Combeferre’s. “Now, with this matter at least temporarily put to rest, may we adjourn to a more pleasant location so that I can set about curing your ailment as I offered to do?”

“Oh?” Combeferre said, his smile widening. “And what curative did you have in mind for my malady?”

Courfeyrac stood and pulled Combeferre to his feet, gallantly offering him his arm. “What else, my dear gentleman? There is but one cure for that which ails a troubled and overthinking mind.” He leaned in so that his lips brushed Combeferre’s ear. “A distraction.”

Combeferre almost seemed to shiver at the promise in Courfeyrac's voice. “I doubt whether Joly would agree with either your prognosis or your remedy.”

“And that is precisely why I did not offer to call for Joly, or for a physician. Now come — the sooner we return to your room the sooner the medicine can take effect and you will find yourself cured.”

He pulled Combeferre toward the door, and Combeferre followed willingly, laughing slightly. “And what of you, Monsieur Courfeyrac? Is there no remedy I can offer in return?”

Courfeyrac smiled at him, something almost sweet in the expression. “There is but one cure you may offer me, as many times as you are willing: you. That is all I need.”


End file.
